Page 33 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
Once seated, Darcy seemed to struggle with how to begin. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his leg, betraying an uncharacteristic nervousness.
“I wish to apologize,” he said finally, his voice low enough to prevent the others from overhearing. “For my behavior in the library. And subsequently, at the sheep pens and other locations.”
Indeed, his behavior since arriving had been unbecoming for a gentleman, but Elizabeth bit her tongue. The man was suffering, cast adrift, as Mary noted.
“Your apology is unexpected.”
“But necessary,” he insisted. “My comments were inappropriate. I made assumptions about your position here that were not merely incorrect but ungenerously expressed.”
Elizabeth studied him, searching for the motivation behind this sudden contrition. “You believed me a servant,” she said, unable to keep a hint of challenge from her voice. “An assumption many would make, given my circumstances.”
“Perhaps,” Darcy conceded. “But a gentleman does not express such assumptions aloud, nor does he… that is, I should not have implied…” He paused, visibly struggling with his words. “Your circumstances, whatever they may be, do not diminish your evident refinement. I was wrong to suggest otherwise.”
The admission clearly cost him considerable effort. Elizabeth felt her carefully nurtured resentment begin to crack, revealing a dangerous softness beneath.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “Your apology is accepted.”
Relief flashed across his features, quickly masked by his usual reserve. “I am gratified to hear it.”
A crash of thunder directly overhead interrupted the moment. William, startled from his play, let out a frightened wail. Before Elizabeth could rise to comfort him, the child was already racing across the room—not toward her, but directly to Darcy.
With a cry of distress, William flung himself against Darcy’s legs, small hands clutching at his trousers as another peal of thunder shook the windows. Darcy looked utterly startled, his hands suspended awkwardly in the air as if uncertain whether touching the child would be appropriate.
“I do apologize,” Elizabeth said, rising quickly. “He is easily frightened by storms.”
But before she could retrieve her son, Darcy had already lifted William onto his lap.
“There now,” he said, his voice gentler than Elizabeth had ever heard it. “The thunder cannot harm you. It is merely the clouds expressing their disagreement with one another.”
William’s sobs subsided to hiccups as he stared up at Darcy with wide, trusting eyes. His small hand reached up to touch Darcy’s face, a gesture of such innocent familiarity that Elizabeth felt her heart constrict painfully.
“He appears to have formed an attachment to you,” she observed, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.
Darcy looked up, his expression caught between confusion and something deeper, more primal. “Children often form inexplicable preferences,” he said, though his arms had naturally adjusted to hold William more securely.
“Not William,” Elizabeth replied softly. “He is typically wary of strangers.”
A particularly violent crash of thunder sent William burrowing against Darcy’s chest, small fingers clutching at his waistcoat. Without apparent conscious thought, Darcy’s hand came up to stroke the child’s dark curls, an instinctively soothing gesture that brought tears to Elizabeth’s eyes.
“Perhaps he senses you mean him no harm,” she suggested, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“I would never harm a child,” Darcy said with unexpected fierceness. Then, more quietly, “Least of all yours.”
The words hung between them, laden with meaning Elizabeth could not fully interpret. Was it mere gentlemanly sentiment, or something more personal? Before she could decide, Lady Eleanor called from across the room.
“Since it appears we are to be confined indoors for the evening, perhaps we might engage in some form of entertainment? Georgiana, would you favor us with a performance?”
The moment broken, Elizabeth reached to reclaim her son.
Darcy surrendered him with evident reluctance, his hands lingering momentarily as the child was transferred between them.
Their fingers brushed, and Elizabeth felt that same jolt of recognition she had experienced when he helped her in the rain—as if her body remembered what his mind had forgotten.
From his expression, she wondered if he had felt it too .
Dinner that evening was an intimate affair, served in the smaller family dining room. The storm continued unabated, occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the windows while thunder rumbled in counterpoint to their conversation.
William had been put to bed after much protest, leaving the adults to dine in relative peace. Elizabeth found herself seated opposite Darcy, a placement that forced her to either stare at her plate or meet his gaze more often than she would have preferred.
“I understand you have been instrumental in improving Bellfield’s breeding program,” Darcy said as the main course was served. “That is quite an accomplishment for someone not raised to agricultural pursuits.”
The comment might have seemed condescending from another man, but Elizabeth detected genuine interest beneath his formal delivery.
“My father kept sheep at Longbourn,” she explained. “Though on a much smaller scale. I always found their management fascinating, if only because it was considered an unsuitable interest for a young lady.”
“You enjoy defying expectations,” Darcy observed, something like amusement flickering in his eyes.
“I enjoy being underestimated,” Elizabeth corrected with a small smile. “It provides such an excellent opportunity to surprise people.”
Mary glanced between them with evident curiosity but remained silent. Lady Eleanor, however, seemed delighted by this exchange.
“My nephew has never cared for conventional thinking,” she remarked. “Though he sometimes forgets this about himself.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow at his aunt. “I was not aware my character was a topic of such general interest.”
“Not general at all,” Lady Eleanor replied smoothly. “Merely familial.”
The conversation shifted to more neutral topics, but Elizabeth remained acutely aware of Darcy’s gaze returning to her throughout the meal.
There was a quality to his attention that reminded her of their time at Netherfield—that same intense scrutiny, as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
After dinner, they retired to the drawing room, where Lady Eleanor suggested parlor games to pass the evening.
Cards were produced, and a lively game of commerce ensued.
Elizabeth, who had initially pleaded fatigue as an excuse to observe rather than participate, found herself drawn into the play by Georgiana’s gentle insistence.
“You must join us, Miss Elizabeth,” the girl urged. “My brother claims you have an excellent understanding of strategy.”
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, surprised. “Does he indeed? I was not aware Mr. Darcy had formed any opinion of my gaming abilities.”
“I merely observed that anyone with your quick wit would likely excel at cards,” Darcy said, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “It was a logical inference, not a specific recollection.”
Yet something in his hesitation made Elizabeth wonder if this was entirely true. Had some fragment of memory surfaced—perhaps of their card games at Netherfield, where she had indeed demonstrated a surprising aptitude for strategy?
The game proved a welcome distraction from such speculations. Elizabeth found herself genuinely enjoying the light-hearted competition, her natural wit emerging as she bantered with Lady Eleanor and teased Mary for her too-serious approach to what was meant to be frivolous entertainment.
“You treat commerce as if it were a theological treatise,” she told her sister, laughing as Mary frowned at her cards with scholarly intensity. “The fate of nations does not hang upon your next play.”
“A lack of proper attention to detail leads to careless errors,” Mary replied primly. “In cards as in life.”
“But sometimes, spontaneity leads to unexpected triumphs,” Elizabeth countered, laying down a winning combination that elicited a groan from Lady Eleanor and a reluctant smile from Darcy.
“Well played, Miss Bennet,” he acknowledged. “Your strategy was… unconventional. ”
“High praise indeed from Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes meeting his with a spark of their old connection. “Who is renowned for his conventional approaches to all things.”
Instead of taking offense, Darcy’s smile deepened slightly. “You have formed a most decided opinion of my character, it seems.”
“I merely observe what is before me,” Elizabeth said, suddenly aware of how dangerously close they were to flirtation. “Though I admit my observations may be incomplete.”
“As are all human observations,” Darcy replied, his gaze holding hers for a moment longer than strict propriety might allow. “We see what we expect to see, more often than not.”
The charged moment was broken by Mary’s decisive placement of her cards. “I believe that constitutes a victory,” she announced, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents flowing around her.
As the evening progressed, the storm showed no sign of abating. Wind howled around the stone walls of Bellfield Grange, while rain continued to lash against the windows with undiminished fury.
“I believe some music would be appropriate,” Lady Eleanor suggested as the card game concluded. “Georgiana, would you favor us with a performance?”
Georgiana willingly moved to the pianoforte, her slender fingers drawing forth a delicate melody that seemed to float above the storm. Elizabeth watched Darcy’s expression soften as he listened to his sister play, his love for her evident in every line of his face.
When Georgiana finished, Lady Eleanor turned to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you might play for us as well, Miss Elizabeth? I understand from Mary that you are quite accomplished.”